Coup de Theatre: Ten
by MazokuTenshi
Summary: They died in their own unique and special way. The ten aspects of death and their respective captains. Warning:character death.
1. Old Age

Warnings: Blood, gore, character death.

~*~*~

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, the strongest shinigami to have ever existed in Seireitei, the man who have started it all. His strong disposition led the others in and out of battle, his quick thinking saving most of the warriors. The scars on his head indicate the past battles and the fights he had fought before, his experience one of the reasons he has survived for so long.

His battle worn body stood proudly in the midst of the winter war, his powerful reiatsu licking up anything that crossed its path with hot flames. He holds his cane with both hands, his haori, long forgotten, turns into ashes with the sudden burst of power. The old man holds his stance; such a gentle yet frightening stare makes its way into his eyes. The grayed orbs, having seen so much in his life, looked ahead and lands unto the traitor who dared disrupt everything he has created and for his own benefit nonetheless!

"Sosuke Aizen, you have not only betrayed the law abiding rule of Seiretei, but you have also sacrificed far too many lives for your own gain." He breaks the silence, the ear-shattering calm that only the two of them can hear.

"…" the traitor does not reply and merely flicks his hair.

"Are you prepared for your death?" his low gravely voice calls out to the man in front of him. No one heard him say it, they were to busy wrapped up in their own fights to care.

Aizen simply gives a soft smile, such gracefulness covering the bloody-thirsty man underneath. "You are mistaken, _I will_ be _god_." He stands still as well, both of them just standing in front of each other, their somewhat tense bodies betraying their _need_ to fight.

"Very well, you have chosen to die and I shall deal with you myself."

The former captain cocks his head to the side at this, pure curiosity etching his young features before letting out a soft, rumbling chuckle. Such naivety, he thinks, he won't be defeated, he knows this, he was too strong, to willed, and too smart to be killed. By this man's own hands nonetheless. For a knowledgeable man, the general should really stop making assumptions. Die so easily while so close to becoming god? He didn't think so.

He chuckles. "Let's finish this."

It had been exactly five hours since their battle begun. The others, both shinigami and Arrancar, were either wounded or dead. The winter war was _over_. Yamamoto sighed and resealed his zanpakutou, Aizen's body not to far from him, dead. He would be lying if he told, even to himself, others that the duel between them was easy, quite the opposite. The young (traitorous bastard asshole that he is) was an excellent fighter, showing skills that even he was impressed at. But still, he was not good _enough_. A haunting smile graces the pale face of the deceased ex-captain. He lies on the ground with his body twisted in such a horrific way that even a contortionist would gag at the sight of it. Aizen was such a great asset, if, and only if, he were on the good side. The Soutaichou's eyes land on the mutilated corpse, his heart not feeling anything for the gaping hole that burned at the young man's chest; an irony, he died looking like the subordinates he threw into the battlefield. Heartless, uncaring, lifeless; such a pity really.

Aizen's strewn body turns into ashes, his grayed eyes staring at him. And at last, the once mighty leader of the hollow disappeared without a trace.

He looks around and feels saddened at the loss of life, his eyes wander from body to body, and he knows all of these fine people, pain tearing at his aged heart at the sight. He didn't want it to end like this. They have succeeded, but at what cost? Most of them were dead, their remains lying around the blood-spilled ground, some of them disintegrating into thin air after a few minutes. He eyes those who were left; the arrancar fled to their own world, and nodded a solemn order.

We have _won_, let us go back.

Years passed, decades, century's maybe, but he lost count of it. He was the only original captain of Seireitei left. He didn't want to remember those he worked with (so long) long ago. Their smiles, laughter, even their constant bickering made him miss them more. The winter war is still fresh in his (old man's) memory, the smell of blood, the smoke, the screams; all of those haunted him in his dreams. Seireitei was still what it was, an organized government. But really, it wasn't the same _without_ them.

Those that survived the war lived to be under him for a few more years. Really, just as humans, life can be lost so easily. They died eventually, either in battle or naturally, no one made it to his age. No one stayed behind with him. It's late, he tells reminds himself.

He looks at the reports of his new fukutaichou; he really _misses _Sasakibe right now. Standing up and stretching his old and weary bones, he heads to bed; fully knowing of the dreams (dreaded nightmares) that would haunt him in his sleep. He closes his eyes and drifts off to a peaceful slumber.

His new fukutaichou finds him the next day; he hasn't come out of his room the whole day, lying on his comfortable futon, finally rid of the memories and nightmares.

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, the strongest shinigami to have ever existed in Seireitei, the man who have started it all, died of old age centuries after the winter war. He was finally reunited with his lost subordinates.

"_Ah, Yama-jii, you're late again old man!"_

~*~*~

Author's Notes: I've been too lazy to continue the others, but while I was working on them, I suddenly thought of this up. I'll be putting all the captains, and you'd be surprised at the aspect I've given them.


	2. Destruction

**A/U:** I have exams coming up, and I've just barely squeezed this story into my hectic schedule. I had fun writing this, hope you do too.

The winter war was not over.

Such horror, yes, such unexplainably sickening dread, clung to her body as she sat in the middle of the blood soaked ground.

Death seemed to mock her. Its cold ghostly fingers softly caressed her neck, her chin to her wonderfully sculpted cheekbones. It was gently bringing her to its frosty chest, waiting for the opportune time to finally cover her within his tight grasp. She could smell the coppery tang of the liquid everywhere. Some poured out from the wounds of those who fought; their scars reopened, new ones created. Looking down at her trembling hands, she realized that they were covered in that sickening yet life sustaining liquid.

It wasn't _hers._

Her beautiful, pain-stricken eyes scanned the area around her, finally resting on that lone body that had moments ago _been_ her comfort, her subordinate, her laughter, her love, and what others didn't notice until now,

Her _sanity_.

She hasn't told anyone else of her predicament. No, she feared that their view of her as 'the loving and gentle mother' would surely change to 'insanity driven freak' once they found out. Her calm demeanor hid the truly blood thirsty monster that rested in the shadows of her heart. Healing wasn't always her forte. It never was. Once, long, long ago, when she was still alive in the human world, she had committed bloody acts so dastardly that she should have gone to hell.

Centuries ago, she had been a warrior for the emperor of the era she had lived in. She was the General of the Army; her gentle voice now differed greatly from her rough, demanding voice back then. _Let's move, men! _A woman's voice would pierce the battlefield, the one and only, and her soldiers would obediently follow every word she says. Raw power flowed into her as she fought, it had been years, and she has now forgotten who she had been fighting for. _Attack! _She cried, her delicate hands wielding double katanas, slashing at every opponent that was stupid enough to cross paths with her. It had been so long since she'd fought like that.

Yes, it had been centuries ago.

She was the most blood-thirsty and skilled warrior out there. No one dared to challenge her. A mere mention of her name sent the military officers cringing, the enemies hesitating-her skill spoke for itself. _Die! You bastard! _Ah, she remembers, her vocabulary had been very similar with that of an uncouth man's was. She wonders what made her stop talking like that. Blood sprayed out from the wounds she inflicted; only a few survived the moment their paths intertwined. Most of them were too inured to fight again, the rest were too frightened to talk. It was quite a surprise to find herself waking up in a place called Rukongai. An arrow to her head, she thinks back, killed her instantly, and for some odd reason, the devils didn't drag her to the fiery pits of Hades when they had the chance. Must be because they were too busy hauling other fallen warriors into their world.

A pained cry snaps her out from her memories, her sight almost blacking out when she realizes that _she_ was still _alive_…

…her dying body being ground to the hard floor by the enemy.

They say destruction comes from those with a broken heart.

And at that instant, the bloodthirsty, insane little homicidal warrior in her past life woke up from her deep sleep. Ah, that's why. She didn't find the need to cause pain anymore because she met her. Rukongai was a harsh place, an eat or be eaten philosophy governed the streets there; it's only a matter of time before the weak got killed. She could remember strolling around the forsaken streets with unforgiving fisted hands, even as a woman, no one dared to attack her. It was a painful memory, loneliness had started to eat at her, life was so _meaningless_ because she had nothing to do, no armies to command, no one to kill.

That was until she had met her, and her little apricot haired sister to be precise. Her long silvery hair bounced whenever she saw it fit to laugh, a soft melodious voice would make it past her soft lips if ever she did it. She fell in love instantly, and all the darkness around her lifeless heart began to deteriorate. Soon enough, they had become part of the governing power of the spirit world, Seireitei. Only the woman with silver locks knew of her terrible secret, her sweet little white lie, and only she was able to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground of sanity. She'd become a healer to protect her little lover, not a fighter, closing wounds helped greatly than causing them.

_Isa…_

"U…Unohana-taichou!"

A guttural snarl rumbles deep in her throat. Her beautiful braided hair was cut off, leaving her dark tresses at shoulder length, framing her delicate face. She stands up, slowly and carefully, her white coat now falling from her shoulders and unto the floor with a loud _thump_.

"Hah! Is that the best you can do, Captain?" The enemy sneers, his huge feet solidly planted on the lieutenant's back. "Shall I kill her slowly?"

Red filled her line of vision. She didn't know what happened, but she could hear ghastly screams-something warm and wet slid of her fingers- what was that? Something splatters across her face, it smelled so much like metal, copper as she recalls. It touches her lips and she flicks out a tongue to taste it. Tastes so much like metal too, it was so _familiar_. Another scream to her side and this time she could feel something sharp hitting her back. Hmm, what a weak move, she tells herself as if watching a fight from a distance.

Tsk tsk. She could hear herself saying. Such a pity, hacking down an opponent isn't fun unless he was powerful.

"Oi, bastards, care to do that again?" the enemies' eyes widen at this. Sure, they haven't met this particular lady before, but, from what they have heard from Aizen-sama is that she was to gentle for her own good. Apparently, Aizen-sama wasn't always correct.

"W…wha-?" A hand smashes into the arrancar's face, destroying the mask and embedding some parts of it into his head. His question was left hanging.

A female voice rings in their ears. How can such a melodic voice be filled with so much thirst for blood?

The frightened arrancars step back to think further into the situation. Her sword, zanpakutou as they call it, was now destroyed, shattered into tiny smithereens with no hope of being restored. If her _soul partner _was destroyed, then why did she still even have the strength to fight back? Let alone fight amazingly against their huge number.

Unohana stood there in all her mighty glory, looking as if she had just fought a million battles. Her pure skin was now dripping with blood, wonderful hair was now messy and ruffled-it framed her face perfectly, once gently smiling lips now bared into a sickening-but oh so very captivating-deadly sneer.

"Bring it on, dumbasses."

~*~

Isane woke up to the feel of someone stroking her hair. Eyes opened up, grey orbs meeting the smiling face of her captain - her lover.

"R…Retsu."

It was one word only. A declaration that only she was privileged to use, a sign of acceptance and of love, such a single sound showing all of her emotions threatening to spill al at once. Unohana smiles and Isane notices something. With her head lying on her Captain's lap, she had a much better view of her face, reaching up with one tired arm-her right one had been torn off-she gently strokes the right cheek of Unohana.

She gasps when she feels a long, bloody trail coming from the healer's eyes. Her shaking hand lingers and she lifts her fingers to rest at the hollow hole that now occupies Unohana's eye socket.

"Your eye."

Unohana simply chuckles and tilts her head to the side, pressing her face closer to the soft palm. The movement moves her hair out of her face and the lieutenant finally sees the damage. In where she should have seen a deep blue eye staring at her she only sees another hollow eye. _She's blind!_ Her heart almost broke seeing her partner in such a horrifying state. She tries to comfort her by stroking the older woman's cheek with her fingers, just caressing, letting her know how much love she was giving.

"It's alright, Isane, I'd rather never see the sun than to never feel _your warmth_ again." Unohana chuckles bitterly as she covers the hand on her face with her own.

"I…I feel tired."

"Hush, help will arrive soon. You'll be alright." She lied. Isane seemed to notice this and gives a dry chuckle. She knew what had happened earlier, her captain's bloodlust taking over her as she tried to protect her lieutenant. And at that moment, before the feeling of darkness ate her, she scooted just a bit closer and mouthed a few last words, just audible enough for her handicapped lover to hear.

"_I love you."_

The older Shinigami's lips straighten into a line when she feels the hand in her grasp going limp. She had executed a forbidden act, to bring the dead back to life. In exchange for feeling the life flow back into her lieutenant's broken body, she had destroyed her rare cerulean blue eyes. Even for a few minutes of holding her live form in her hands, she was willing to throw everything away – the life she had worked hard to get for, all the blood, sweat, and tears, all useless when it comes to this one moment.

They say destruction comes from those with a broken heart.

"_I love you."_

Carrying the limp corpse of her dead lover with one arm, she stands up, gracefully as a fallen warrior would. She could hear more coming, their rough laughter, brash movements, and all that naivety coming right to her.

Her eyes, leaking tears of blood stared off into the distance. A small pink tongue makes its way past her delicate lips, licking the blood that made its way to the corner of her mouth. She could feel her insanity inching closer, crawling at her with long terrible claws, itching to grab her into its pull. She fought no longer, and the sudden rush of battled overflowed her. Her soft arm cling on harder to the deadweight, her other hand points to where she knows the enemies lie and taunts them.

Bring it on.

Her grin could rival that off Zaraki Kenpachi's.

~*~

Days pass by, and the rumors of the blood thirsty motherly figure have already spread the whole of Seireitei. Some were surprised, going out of their way to prove that she was not a monster. A majority of the people who loved her still felt that way for her, even if they didn't know what to believe anymore. She was still respected; they felt she had deserved their undying adoration for a woman such as her.

The torn pages of her life have come to an end, both the warrior and the healer ending her life with such devastation.

They say destruction comes from those with a broken heart.

TBC.

Well, I wanted a deeper-if not imaginative- look on Unohana's past life. I thought that her being a General/insane homicidal warrior would be a surprise and a change for such a sweet woman. Please tell me if you liked it! :D

P.S. Captains will not be coming in order. Just to surprise you.


End file.
